Jake and Me

This post is all about Jake. Jake was my dog for the last 10 years. He was a good dog, fiercely loyal to those he loved (and if we let you in the house he loved you), a fierce protector when he needed to be, and the sweetest dog ever. I will tell his story here, possibly for the last time. Many of you have heard at least part of this before. But I want to tell it once more, even the not so good parts at  the end in tribute to an animal who absolutely deserves it. Hey, I eulogize people on this blog all the time so why not Jake?

Valerie and I  adopted Jake from Stray Rescue the year we got engaged, and he lived with her until we got married (I had an ill tempered cat named Lemmy at the time, but that's a whole 'nother post). Anyway, Jake was rescued in Mississippi just after Hurricane Katrina. When they found him he had buckshot in his front right leg. This caused him to walk with a slight limp his entire life. Although up until this past year or so you wouldn't have noticed it unless you knew to look. He never let his injury stop him from playing, running, or going on walks through the neighborhood.

So here we have a dog who has been through a hurricane, been shot at (probably in the aftermath of the hurricane), and changed owners multiple times within the first year or two of his life. Some of those things left him mentally scarred as well as physically. Storms, fireworks and people with flashlights tended to make him nervous. By rights, Jake probably shouldn't have made it past puppyhood. But he did. And  after all that he had a heart full of love to boot.

When he was younger Jake used to sit up on his hind legs. Not because it was a command or a ploy to get a treat, but because that's how he learned-he couldn't physically sit with his  front paws on the floor for years. So naturally when we heard his story and he sat up like that, it was too cute and we loved him pretty much instantly. And so began Jake's journey into Brinkdom. Or something like that.

Like I said, he was a good dog. If you hung around for any amount of time you had a friend in Jake. He was always quite loving with family and friends. Jake protected his territory though. More than one door to door salesman and delivery person were intimidated by his "don't you dare come near my family!" bark. But  once you were in, he'd be by your side for any petting or head scratching you may need to do, and doggie kisses were compliments of the house.

Jake loved to run and chase tennis balls in the yard, although getting him to give them back was sometimes an issue. I had to use two. Being part hound dog, walks were always a wonder and amazement to him-the world was full of interesting smells! If he didn't have that leash on he'd follow a scent for miles. And like most dogs Jake loved to eat!

No, scratch that. Jake lived to eat. That dog was a bottomless pit. He'd devour his food in a few gulps and then come take position under the table ready to pounce on any food that happened to be dropped on the floor. There was no "five second" rule in our house-Jake never let any food sit that long. And if you threw him a piece of popcorn or a pretzel he could always catch it-no matter how hard you tried to make the catch. Jake and I spent many late nights watching bad T.V. and sharing a snack this way. And once he knocked over and drank my bottle of Mackison's stout, which was annoying but did show good taste.

Now, Jake wasn't perfect. He could be quite destructive. If he felt he was being left alone too long he'd find something to destroy. Sometimes he'd eat diapers. Paper towels or left over Ziploc bags from the trash can would do nicely. Once he even ate an entire pair of Patterson's pajamas-except the snaps, of course. Jake was also not very smart. He never fully understood "no", and was just basically a bone head who never learned from his mistakes-or even remembered them. As frustrating as all this was, however, we never gave up on our boy or lost love for him. In hindsight it seems almost charming. Almost.

So how did this big furry mess get along with the children? Quite well, thank you. When Tessa was born I think he knew that he'd been partially replaced and that this new little thing was going to take up some of the attention and love that he'd been soaking in for so long. But he knew right away that it was his job to protect it and love it. Same with the twins, in fact when we brought them home he took one look at them, sniffed, shot me a look that said "Again? Didn't we already do this?...Fine.." and he loved them too. There was a lot of climbing on the dog, poking fingers where they shouldn't go and general, though innocent, mishandling of the dog from the children at first. And he did snap at them once or twice but mostly he just took it. Because he was a good dog.

And then Jake started to show his age. Two Springs ago I threw him his first tennis ball of the season, and he couldn't make the jump for it. It hurt his leg to do so. So we dropped that game, but he'd still chase rabbits and run with the kids so we didn't worry quite yet. But sometimes dogs age fast and deteriorate quicker than you'd like to admit.

He started sitting up again and taking that weight off of his paws. He began taking the stairs a little bit slower each month. His once black and tan muzzle was now turning white. We had to put Jake on pain meds to help with his leg. He was still pretty alert and active but things were beginning to slow down.

Fast forward to just a few months ago. Jake's limp became much more pronounced. He was sleeping longer and harder. He didn't always come right when you'd call anymore as it took effort. But he was still a happy dog...it's just that he was starting to have problems with his back too.  He would occasionally yelp just because he was brushed up against. And many mornings Jake would yelp when he got up from sleeping all night.

Then on Sunday Jake awoke at 3 a.m. with a yelp that sounded more like a painful scream. He was on my side of the bed and I heard him clump over to Valerie's side, then a short time later down the hall towards the kid's rooms. Almostlike saying goodbye. When we got up at 5:30 Monday he was in the girls' room. He couldn't walk to us-all he could do was crawl with his hind legs. Valerie and I knew we were seeing the beginning of the end. If this was going to happen to Jake on anywhere near a regular basis, well, that would be unacceptable. He was a noble dog-not smart, but noble. He didn't deserve to go out as a decrepit old man, but rather with some dignity in him  and while he was still our Jake.

So, decision made and vet on board I took him to the vet's office to do the right thing. He was able to walk slowly by that point but I had to lift him into and out of the car. Part of me thinks he knew something was going on, but I'm not sure. If you've ever had to put a dog down before you know how sad it is. Usually what happens is they are given one shot of sedative which makes the dog woozy, then one shot to make them unconscious, and the final shot to finish the job. It is heartbreaking but oddly peaceful.

But not this time. Not Jake. When the sedative hit his system and made him all woozy it freaked him out, and when Jake gets freaked out he begins to wheeze and cough. Which he did, and got a bunch of stuff caught in his throat, and began to choke. Only the sedative had weakened his system to the point that he couldn't clear his throat. So they gave him more sedative to try and calm him and give Jake the peaceful end he deserved. Didn't work, he kept on choking and hacking. So the last two shots were administered during this fit. He had only a few seconds of peace before the end. 

That did not go as planned. I am 100% sure I did the right thing, but seeing him in that state as he lost consciousness was just too much. I felt guilty. It was just horrible, one of the most awful things I have ever seen. I sat in my car and cried like a school girl. I even begged God to take him in. I gave Jake a better life,  but I felt like I failed him somehow in his final moments. It was brutal and I don't think I will ever forget it.

But you know what else I won't forget? How loving a companion Jake was. His goofy charm and heart full of love will be with me always. I take solace in the fact that there is no more hurt or pain. And if Pastor Jimmy is right and all dogs really do go to Heaven...well, I hope somebody up there's got a few tennis balls ready. 'Cause one day we're gonna have ourselves a big ol' game of catch.

Good dog, Jake. Good dog.

Completeley Useless Rant #472. Space.

Well it's been quite a while since I posted anything here. I have been meaning to but, you know...(enter your favorite excuse here). After looking over the last few entries I realized it kind of became "Dave's Death Blog" so I figured I should put up something a little lighter. Ready? Okay.

I have a question. It's been about eight years now and I think this needs to be addressed.

Has any body's quality of life improved since Pluto stopped being a planet?

No, seriously. Since Pluto lost its status as a planet is anyone saying "Wow. We were really in dire straits there for a while. Our finances were wrecked, the family was falling apart...and I was losing my faith, man, just ready to give up. But then the Pluto thing happened and BAM!!!"

My guess is no. And do you know why? Because it didn't help anybody. Changing Pluto's status to a "dwarf planet" (shouldn't it be "little" planet?) did nothing to benefit mankind and nothing changed when it comes to real everyday life.

Actually, no, I take that back, a few things were changed. Textbooks, for example, all had to be revised and reordered. So our public schools, already struggling financially, had to go and dump a bunch of money for new materials just to please people who stare into telescopes all day.

Science fiction has also been forever changed. I have friends who are professional scientists. I also know quite a few amateur ones (hobbyists, not like meth-heads or anything). They are all probably angry with me now, but if you truly know me then you should expect a silly tirade like this once in a while. Anyway, the one thing that all of these people definitely have in common is their love of science fiction. Almost to religious proportions, some of them. But now, this genre you all drool over has had much of its illustrious past negated. It just looks silly now. Even the stuff that didn't look silly before.

Also, Mickey's dog is now named after nothing.

And most people just seemed to be okay with it. Why?  Why weren't people alarmed that a bunch of people over at the IAU just decided to change fact and history and we were expected to take it immediately as truth? Furthermore, why did it need to be changed in the first place? What was the point? Pluto was fine as it was. Just fine. The whole thing seemed like such a waste of time and effort.

Maybe it was a joke that went too far. Maybe a few emails were floating around just as a goof, and somebody let it slip out. The press took hold of it and being the IAU (International Astronomers Union)  they couldn't pass up  the idea of a new discovery and the attention that comes with it. Besides, they couldn't appear to be wrong now could they? Most of them have impressive letters after their names for crying out loud. So they went with this "not a planet" thing and made up a whole set of classifiers to prove their non existent point. Maybe, but probably not.

So basically the point is, I'm sick and tired of space. Not personal space mind you, but "the final frontier" type space. Other scientific fields I'm okay with. Medical research? Good, great, keep it up. Cure some diseases-YAY Science! Biology, Archaeology, Nature and Earth Sciences, all good. Well done.  I would praise technological breakthroughs since we live in an amazing wired world. However the result of this brave new techno-world has mostly been selfies taken with too little clothing while posing in toilets. So that's a wash.

Once again, to be clear: science as a whole, good. But Astronomy? IAU? NASA? Sorry. I don't trust you anymore. Unless you restore Pluto to its rightful place as our solar system's ninth planet.

Or add more planets. Or discover David Bowie's home planet, and we start intergalactic trade with them and begin travel to and from Bowieworld. Then all will be forgiven.

"...And punks and rastas and skins will all hold hands in sorrow for their fallen leader..."

Rik Mayall died yesterday at the surprisingly young age of 56. In case you are unfamiliar with the name, he was a British comedian/actor/writer who most Americans may only know as "Drop Dead Fred", the title character of the fantastically under rated 80's film. However, students of British comedy will also be familiar with his roles in the T.V series "Bottom", "Black  Adder", and of course "The Young Ones".

It is the latter where Rik and his comedy most influenced me. MTV began running repeats of the series when I was in my early teens. I was quite the outsider in my middle school years, quite shy and introverted. I wasn't much into sports but loved music and comedy. I had begun to develop a taste for things that were a little bit on the fringe. This was not by choice, I wasn't trying to be cool by not being cool (it was years before I realized you could even do that), it was just naturally where my interests lay. So when the music video station started airing this bizarre little show it just seemed perfect to me.

I remember clearly speaking with my friend Jim about the show. He was the only person I knew who watched and liked it. We discussed what made us laugh, what we didn't understand, what we thought of the music in the show and took turns talking like the guys in the cast. From the first one I saw it just felt like my show.

The rest of the people in my school didn't like it (or get it). My father didn't like it either, and we share a fairly similar sense of humor. I mean, he had been my introduction to British humor by watching Monty Python movies with me at an inappropriate age, and Dad didn't see it. Just me and Jim. Later on, I converted a few other people to the fold, indoctrinated my little brother, and even turned my Dad around on the show a little bit. But at the time it was mine. Having those types of things in your life is very important at that age as you are defining who you are and shaping how you look at life. And I was shaped, in part, by Rik Mayall and The Young Ones. Which explains a lot.

What made The Young Ones so unique is that it was based in reality, but sort of a hyper reality which made the whole thing seem more like a real life cartoon. Inanimate objects came to life and addressed the camera through wonderfully bad puppetry. Tom and Jerry type violence happened multiple times per show, and no-one was ever truly injured. Vyv once made his entrance riding a demolition ball into the kitchen. This was a bizarre, surreal show that took place in a foreign country and had characters that were unbelievably unlikeable but relatable and crazy funny.

Though I related least to Rik's character (named Rick, to avoid confusion) I always admired the genius it took to bring this spotty little creep to life. Rick was so desperate for attention he embarrassed himself and others on a regular basis. He tried so hard to be cool, to be a leftist revolutionary, even declaring himself the People's Poet (referenced in the post title).  And failed miserably. He, and the show in general were rude, stupid, vulgar, silly, petulant, gross, dangerous and completely insane.

But the show taught me something. Mostly how not to write a letter to your bank manager, but other stuff too. It taught me that although I already knew how to laugh at the establishment, it was okay to laugh at the opposition as well. It was okay to laugh at pretty much all personality types, and that very little is off limits. Absurdity is everywhere and if you don't laugh you go mad. What Rik and the other writers did was take the absurdity in every day life, explode it and exploit it in an admittedly juvenile yet terribly funny and creative way. And that's the kind of comedy I enjoy the most, smart people doing idiotic things while keeping a straight face and with a knowing wink to the audience that the performers are in in their own joke. Not many can do it right but The Young Ones did, and Rik was the head of the pack.

Most of the characters Mayall went on to develop had a little bit of Rik in them (or a lot bit in some cases). At least the stuff available to us Americans seems to be that way. I hear that he's pulled off some decent acting on the BBC in recent years. I would welcome the chance to see some of that, but honestly, Rik Mayall will forever be the crazy, manic genius I have always loved.  I still can quote whole sections of dialogue from the shows, and watch the Young Ones on at least a yearly basis. I enjoy his other stuff too (anybody else remember "Bad News"?), but clearly the thirteen year old me has never completely gone. Long may he remain.

So in closing may I just say: "There's a horrible farty smell in here and it's not come from my bottom!"

Thanks People's Poet. For everything.

The State Of Me

It's been much longer than I ever intended since my last blog post. I've had a few things I have wanted to blog about but not much time to do so, or motivation to organize my thoughts. So I'm lumping some of them together here, with helpful section headers so you can skip anything you don't want to read. You're welcome.

GETTING OLDER

I have officially started to feel old. Not all the time, mind you. And I'm not super old or anything, but the signs are starting to show. Apart from the grey in the beard, that is, which as we all know is sophisticated and not old. Right?

For example, every day when I wake up something different hurts. I'm getting aches in places I didn't know had places. Most often it's my back that hurts, or my shoulder, or feet, or weird muscular things around my middle. I also suspect that my fat hurts, but I can't verify that.

Also, I am falling asleep on the couch. Not every once in a while, more like every time I sit on it. My wife blames the couch but I know it's really me. Thanks for being supportive honey, but I'm just getting old(er). At least I'm not trying to pull that whole "resting my eyes" jazz. I fall asleep every evening for about 20 minutes or so and them I'm awake for another hour or two. I have missed the ending/middle of so many shows...

Finally, I am getting forgetful. When the kids were babies I blamed them but that excuse only goes so far. I just can't remember things anymore. And I'm not talking about forgetting a conversation from a few days ago or an upcoming event on the calendar. I can't remember, like, earlier. Today. I know, I know, "take the Ginko Biloba, it really helps" you say. And you are probably correct. Well, for your information I happen to have some here at the house. I just can't remember to take it.

CHURCH STUFF

I HAVE BECOME MORE INVOLVED IN MY CHURCH. Sorry, forgot to take off the Caps Lock.

I have become more involved in my church. This is a good thing. Fortunately, the church staff is full of good people who are quite supportive and encouraging. For the first time in a long time I feel I am with a group of people where I belong. The culture of the church is very open, welcoming, and community minded. Most churches talk about caring for others, few of them put it into action and actually build the church around that idea. God is doing great things and I am happy and humbled to be a part of it.

Which brings me to the point. I have always heard talk of God having a plan for His people. I've just never really understood that. I never really knew exactly what it meant, what it looked like, or how I was supposed to find my place in this plan. But I think I'm starting to.

See, this whole Christianity thing is a life long process. And I started late. There is still so much left for me to learn and experience. But I am taking steps to get to where I am supposed to be. Baby steps maybe, but at least I'm moving. I am learning how to use my talents for God, not just for me. And every time I accomplish something in that regard, be it some writing, being involved in Guest Services at the church, or being part of the service itself, I want to do more. This is new and exciting for me and I am interested to see how it all goes and where it all leads. I am nowhere near perfect and struggle daily with even being able to act like a follower. But...baby steps.

Oh, and I would be remiss if I didn't mention the church itself. Check out The Way (United Methodist) online at www.livingdifferently.org to see what I've been on about. Thanks.

MISCELLANEOUS OTHER STUFF

Norm Core

Yes, that is a thing. And it annoys me. If I understand it correctly, it's a fashion type movement in which folks go out of their way to look non-descript. The style is the absence of style. Except that most of the people involved are still wearing designer brands, just in a bland, boring way.

So basically the Hipsters have finally run out of ideas.

THE SOCIAL GOSPEL

Is the name of my band. Contrary to what one may think by the above section, no, we are not a Christian band. We are mostly secular in nature and subject matter. All three members are believers so some of the religious stuff sneaks in around the edges, but so do some adult words and snotty rock and roll attitudes. That's part of the whole not being perfect thing I was talking about a few paragraphs back.

Anyway, we're recording and hope to have some stuff online for y'all to listen to soon. So yay.

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Okay, that got way longer than it was supposed to which is par for me. There's more but, next time.
See ya.

On Patrick, Rush, Anger, Sadness, Love and Forgiveness

At the end of my previous blog I promised something light and fluffy for this week's blog. Well, that will have to wait.

I want to talk about this:

This is the best gift my cousin Patrick ever gave to me.  Not this specific copy, but still. He probably wouldn't remember it. I remember vividly the evening that we went to visit Uncle Benny,  Aunt Shirley and Pat. Being about six years apart, as kids we didn't have much in common. That changed a little bit later on, but when I was in grade school and he was a teen, well, he may as well have been thirty.

Anyway, we wound up hanging out in his room and he started playing records. This would have been roughly 1978-79ish. That night cousin Patrick was the first person to ever play me Rush.

That may sound insignificant to some, but it's not. I remember listening to side 2 and 4. I did not understand this music but I knew it was important. I knew I needed to investigate it further. And I knew that, at least for a moment my cousin was amazingly cool. I didn't know it then but Rush would become one of my favorite bands. I have followed them for many years, through many styles, and been challenged and inspired by their music and lyrical themes. Patrick started me on the path to a life long love of Rush. It has enriched my life, and I really should thank him for it.  

But I can't. Earlier this week, Patrick committed suicide.

I got the phone call Tuesday night. I didn't feel it until Wednesday morning. I was about ten minutes from work and lost it completely. I thought I got myself composed enough to continue on with my day, but instead of "good morning" I was greeted with "what's wrong?". What's wrong? I'm angry and sad and confused and everything is terrible. That's what.

Pat and I were never close, but as we got older I discovered that I truly liked him. We had the same sense of humor and a similar outlook on many things. He was funny, in a slightly sarcastic way. and he always seemed to be cool as a cucumber. He was private, and I can't say I really knew him well. But he was family and I loved him.

But right now I am angry with him. Because I love the rest of the family too. And apart from being in various states of shock, many of them are devastated. Aunt Shirley died a year ago, natural causes, and now this happens. Pat, what did you do? How could you do that to your father? And what is he supposed to do now?

And what about the rest of us? Your uncles and aunts who loved you and treated you like their own? Your cousins, the younger ones who looked up to you, and those who grew up with you? And what about your family? I won't go into any more details here, it's not my place to do so, but things could have worked out differently, and the sun could have shined again. You just didn't let it happen.

So what's the deal? This wasn't like you, man. The Patrick I knew was not weak, or selfish, or this broken. I don't know how you got this way, but you could have fixed it. Maybe you didn't know you could. Maybe you just didn't want to.

Look, I can forgive you, Pat, for what you've done. I can make peace with it, and cherish the memories I have. But not yet. Every memory of you is now tainted, and that won't go away, but my anger will. Because we're family. We accept one another, warts and all, and we love each other, no matter what. I just wish you could have held on to that, if nothing else. Then maybe...well, you know.

Anyway, with all this in my head, yesterday I went to grab "All The World's A Stage" by Rush and play it as a tribute. I was shocked to find that I didn't have it. I still have my vinyl copy from years ago but I didn't have the CD. It suddenly became vitally important that I obtain a copy. In view of what happened it just didn't seem right that I did not own a copy. This problem has been fixed. I have played as I drive, loudly and without apology. I played it for what used to be, for what will never be, and for what is. I played it for life.

Life is big, beautiful, scary, sad and funny. Sometimes all at once. It's not something we can do on our own. If you've indulged me thus far, then do me a favor. Reach out to somebody who's hurting or going through a rough patch. If you don't know anyone who is, then reach out anyway...there's someone who isn't showing their pain who needs a kind word or deed desperately. You truly might save a life. And, if you are the one who needs help, get help.

Tomorrow is Patrick's funeral. Going to it will be the single most depressing thing I have ever had to do. But I will go to show my love for the family, and to try and get a little closure, and try to put this anger to rest. Also to let the healing process and the forgiveness begin. I will be there for you too Patrick. Because I love you. And after the Rush thing, it's the least I can do.

Fred Is Dead

ATTENTION-I don't normally do things like this but I have to make a request. If you are going to read this post please read through to the end. It deals with topics that are hot buttons for a lot of people. It is not my intent to offend. I write merely as an attempt at understanding, healing and with an intention of creating an open and honest document and dialogue. Thank you.


Fred Phelps died today. I shouldn't need to explain but just in case the name doesn't ring a bell he was the leader of the infamous Westboro Baptist Church. You know, the people who show up at funerals for homosexuals waving signs with such "clever" slogans as "God Hates Fags". They have protested outside of funerals for members of the military as well. I heard about Mr. Phelps's death on the radio during my lunch break this afternoon. The reaction I had was most unexpected.

I felt an overwhelming sadness. I even shed a tear.

Told you it was unexpected.

My reaction surprised me. It made me think about the whole situation. Over lunch. I'm not sure I like the feeling I had but it's important to understand it. Please stay with me, and maybe we can think this whole situation through. Note that I in no way endorse or condone what Phelps and his followers have done. I have no intention to glorify any of it. But the sadness was very real and I need to talk about the reasons.

First, I am saddened for the people who were victims of the hatred spread by Phelps and his followers. Burying your dead is difficult enough without having to defend them as well. The kicker here is that there were almost certainly people at the funerals of homosexual family members who never quite came to terms with the sexual orientation of their recently deceased family member. And I can't help but think that maybe there would be a few anti-military types ( or at least some anti -war types) at a military serviceperson's funeral as well. With the Westboro crowd around, not only did these unfortunate folks have to deal with their loss but it also would have forced out any guilt they may be feeling at the time. My heart goes out to these families around the country.

And as a Christian I am saddened by what Fred Phelps has done to us. We don't get the best press these days as is, and Phelps didn't win us any admirers. People like Phelps are a walking stereotype who give all the ammunition needed to anyone outside the Church who want to label us as hypocrites and hate mongers. And it's hard to argue against them when the evidence given is so strong.

Also included with the damage done to Christians as a whole is the damage done to Baptists in particular. On the whole Baptists are not the most progressive bunch (I grew up as one, I know), but there are some really great people in the Baptist church. Good, kind, caring people. Not bigots. The younger leadership has been moving the Baptist Church  along a bit over the past ten years or so, making it a vibrant, relevant church for young and old alike. And it's a pity that most people won't notice this. When people hear the word "Baptist" nowadays they mostly think of Westboro. I pray the church can rise above the damage done.

I am also saddened for Fred Phelps, the man. I do not believe that he got into ministry solely to perpetuate anger, hatred and fear. Let's not forget that as a lawyer he was among the most active in bringing down Jim Crow laws in Kansas. This alone is proof that at one time his intentions were good. But at some point it all went downhill. The man got the wrong end of the stick and waved it around for all to see. He was later disbarred from practicing law in Kansas, but did practice in Federal Court. He also cut ties with the Baptist church who hired and ordained him originally and shaped Westboro Baptist into his own image.

I just can't help but wonder "what if?". I mean, I have never heard a sermon by Mr. Phelps, but evidence suggests that he must be a good speaker. Most lawyers are, and preachers doubly so. And for Phelps to be able to build up his own church, fill the people's heads with this sort of bile, and then get them to act upon his ideas...well, obviously this was a man who was quite convincing to say the least. But he got it all wrong. Even if he truly believed he was doing God's work. Instead of conforming his own ideas and prejudices and anger to the word of God he twisted the word to fit his own desires. Always a bad idea. But just think that if he truly was a great communicator, what a blessing he could have been for God's kingdom! I am saddened by the loss of what could have been a great ministry.

Naturally, the question has crossed my mind. Where is Fred Phelps now? Has he gone on to his reward or did he receive his regulation red suit and pitchfork? I don't know. I am not God and it is not my decision to make. My gut reaction is that Phelps was nothing but an attention seeking hate monger and is getting what he deserves.

But.

I believe in a God of infinite grace. I believe that He forgives. He will punish false prophets and false teaching, I have no doubt. But let's be honest, how many of us have gotten it wrong too? How often have we misunderstood scripture and lived our lives in misunderstanding until it was made clear? Even worse, how many times have we ignored scripture altogether?

Who among us is not guilty of breaking a Commandment? If not by deed then at least by thought? How many can truly say we've never blown it? My guess is none. Aren't we all counting on God's grace for forgiveness and redemption? Well, so was Fred Phelps.

When I meet God the Father on my day of Judgement, I know that my record will be seriously blemished. It is my desire that He will still receive me with open arms, even though I got it so wrong so often, and welcome me home. Fred Phelps did too. Again, I don't know where the destiny of Fred Phelps lies, but I know that God has the power to forgive if He chooses. And whether I would make the same choice is irrelevant. God will decide and it will be perfect, holy and right.

So I think that the tear I shed was for all of us. Those of us who are saved and those who are not. Those of us who are trying so hard and not getting it right, those who are on the righteous path and those completely lost.

In the coming days/weeks we will see a lot of Fred Phelps jokes. For once, I won't be joining in. I am going to take the high road and show him and his family the respect that he could not show to others. Yes. Phelps left a terrible legacy and ideology that may still be alive in the hearts and minds of his followers, but at least I can still do unto others as I would have them do unto me.

Okay, that got long. Sorry. Thanks for reading. Comments are open, but let's keep it civil guys. Nobody liked the hate speech from Phelps, let's not use it towards him or each other either. I'll post something light and fluffy next time. Promise.

Daddyblog: Trikes and Bikes

Yesterday my son Patterson decided he wanted to go outside and ride his tricycle.  Apparently, two viewings of the Care Bears "Oopsy  Does It" movie was more than sufficient for him.  It's not actually as bad as it sounds, and has a fun little song by Kay Hanley (formerly of super awesome '90s alt-rock band Letters To Cleo), but two sittings inspired the boy to get the heck out of the house.  This in turn inspired his sisters to do the same so we all went out front for a little play before dinner.

Now, we haven't got the bikes out for months, so there were a few hitches.  Helmet sizes need to be reevaluated before Spring kicks in, and for some reason I've never bought a bicycle pump so not every body's tires exactly had what you'd call air in them.  Melody's bike and helmet were perfect so she was off and moving right away.  Tessa's helmet fit pretty well, but her tires were non-starters.  So she rode her little brother's big boy bike for a while, but it didn't really fit her so that didn't last too long.  Eventually I wound up playing soccer with the girls in the side yard.

But what about the boy?  Wasn't this whole thing his idea to begin with?  Why did his sister ride his bike?  Come on, what gives?

Well, see, Patterson's idea was to ride his tricycle.  Trouble is, he's too big for his trike.  He has a big boy bike inherited from cousin Alex, but he's not very good at it so he is intimidated by the thing.  So being the Daddy I encouraged him to ride the bike.  I tried to be as encouraging as possible, but it did not go well.  The conversation went something along the lines of:

      "Buddy, you're too big for your tricycle. Let's ride your big boy bike!"

       "No. I don't want to. I can't ride it."
      
       "Sure you can. You can do it. I'll help."

       "NO. I want tricycle."

       "Patterson, the tricycle is for little boys."

       "I am a little boy."

       "No, you're my big boy. Let's go ride your bike!"

At this point he burst into tears and ran inside to his mother screaming, "Daddy only likes bicycles...He doesn't like ME!"


Ouch. That one hurt. A part of me wanted to relent, but I did not.  At this point I had a "Parenting Decision" to make. I can't very well teach the boy that crying and making a big deal out of an issue will get him his way.  Sometimes it will, but it shouldn't be a habit. Besides there are plenty of people out there to teach him the wrong way to do things so I should stand my ground and be consistent as possible.

It did trouble me though that his thought process went straight to "Daddy doesn't like me".  I expect to get the occasional "I hate you"s from the kids in their pre-teen/teenage years, but I never want them to think I don't like them, or love them for that matter.  Granted, he's only three years old so that has a lot to do with it but it still didn't sit right.

So I tried to play with him a little extra last night and told him I loved him a few extra times as well. by this morning he was saying "I love you" back to me, so we seem to be back to normal.  I knew we would be, but it's still nice to know.

Maybe we'll try again next weekend if the weather holds up.  I think the tricycle is going to disappear, and that will get him on the big boy bike.  But his helmet is too small,  I'm just wondering how that's gonna go...

New Computer, No Excuse.

I have seriously gotten out of the habit of blogging.  My, as the kids say, bad. Part of the reason has been an overall lethargy brought on by too many kids, too little sleep, and the instantaneous satisfaction of putting every single thought I have worth sharing (and some not, let's face it) on Facebook. But I am taking steps to fix that.

"But Dave", you say, "we've heard this all before." Yes, you have. And I don't much like your tone. But this time I have a new netbook to type on and play with. A Toshiba. With touch screen. It's cool and hip. The space bar isn't very sensitive, I have to pound at it with my thumb but otherwise it's pretty cool. So if nothing else I'll be needing to justify the expense so....yeah.

Alright. Gonna try to turn this into a weekly thing with either one topic to discuss and explore my ideas on, or perhaps just a free flowing stream of consciousness (hey, I just misspelled that word and the computer automatically corrected it for me. Wicked slick!) heap of jellied um, things...what?

I must be tired.  Bed time. See you soon.